


Miscellaneous Tropes:  A Collection

by Nostalgic_Kitty



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Honestly Erik what are you thinking, M/M, Missing Scene, One Shot Collection, Sad Trash Baby Charles, Trope Bingo Round 4, Truth or Dare, alex and emma are barely there, drunkfic, more hurt/comfort, plane scene, slavefic, warning: brief violence, warning: slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nostalgic_Kitty/pseuds/Nostalgic_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My collection of trope bingo fics for round 4 of Trope Bingo.</p>
<p>Ch. 1:  Truth or Dare<br/>Ch.2:  Drunkfic (with a dash of angst)<br/>Ch.3:  Slavefic (ALL THE ANGST MUAHAHA)<br/>(Rating may change with future updates)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, starting another thing. To kill the writer's block! Hope you enjoy, should update every few days. I'm going for a blackout, people! :D

"Dare," Charles says, lips forming uncertainly around the word. Raven's face lights up with glee, a mischievous glint in her yellow eyes spelling impending disaster quite clearly. Her grin is sharp and wide, cutting through Charles previously small confidence like a knife.

"Well, well, brother dearest. Dare it is. And I dare you to ..." she pauses for dramatic effect, "sit in Erik's lap for the rest of the game!" At this, both boys go positively scarlet. Charles can feel his heart jump in his chest and his mouth fall open in shock.

"You can't just involve other people in your sick game, Raven, that's cheating!" Erik bites out through clenched teeth, most likely trying to will away the blush on his cheeks. Charles tries to ignore the small moment of hurt he feels when he realizes that Erik doesn't seem to want to follow through with the dare. Instead he punches Raven in the arm where she's cackling next to him.

"He's right, Raven! That's not fair!" Charles splutters. Erik nods along with him.

"Um, actually, technically the rules state nothing to that effect," Hank interjects unhelpfully.

"Shut up Hank."

"Yes, _do_ shut up Hank."

Hank hangs his furry head in shame.

"Rules are rules, boys! Too bad. Now get over there Charles!" Raven exclaims, giving Charles a shove that sends him nearly face-first into Erik's lap. He can feel his blush intensifying even further as he picks himself up and scoots to the other edge of the circle.

"So sorry about this, my friend," he murmurs as he plops unceremoniously into Erik's lap.

"It's o-okay," Erik says in a strangled voice, hands hovering at his sides as if he has no idea where to put them. Charles tries to will his mind to think of unsexy things and hopes he can hold out for the entirety of the game.

At some point during the following hour or so, Erik settles his arms gently around Charles' middle, a vaguely bold move that confuses Charles to no end. He thought Erik didn't like him. But as the game goes on he feels Erik's body slowly melt against his, his chin settling on Charles' shoulder and his breathing evening out. Charles even catches the tail-end of a thought floating from Erik mind that ends in _smells so good_. Erik must be calming down, Charles thinks, smiling to himself.

Then Raven declares the game over, announcing that Erik can let Charles go now. The aftermath of Raven's evil scheme has left Hank with a shaved arm, Alex with an unmentionable sharpie scribble on his face, and Emma with a knowing smirk. Raven seems to be the only one who has gone unscathed, which seems a bit _too_ convenient.

"You can let go now, my friend," Charles whispers. "Thank you for putting up with me." When Erik fails to respond, Charles turns a bit more to see his face. Normally he would be extremely distracted by how close together their lips are, but that is not what catches his attention.

"Erik . . .?"

No answer.

Erik is very, unambiguously asleep. What. The. Hell.

When Raven notices, she bursts out into hysterical laughter, followed soon by the others. Charles feels the blush return full-force. Fully expecting Erik to wake up with all the noise surrounding them, Charles is perplexed and frustrated to find that Erik _does not wake up_. At a loss as to what to do, Charles sits there, mortified.

"Looks like you two snuggle bunnies will just have to stay here, then. Wouldn't want to wake the slumbering beast, after all!" Raven says, smiling uncontrollably and winking at Charles.

 _This is NOT funny, Raven!!!_ Charles projects, trying desperately to keep Erik asleep. It's already gone nearly 3 and Erik looks like he needs the rest.

"Sure, sure, whatever you say, big brother," Raven says, snickering as she leaves the room with the others. "Well, we're off to bed! Have fun sleeping with Erik, Charles!"

Charles moves to call out after them, but finds himself speechless after that last sentence. His cheeks are a heated mess and his stomach is doing flip-flops at the thought. Willing himself to stay calm and decidedly not aroused, Charles sighs and settles in for the night. He leans back against Erik's shoulder and places his hands over Erik's, smiling a bit at the unexpected closeness.

*

When Charles comes to the next morning, it is still dark outside. The clock in the living room reads 6:30 AM and there is a gentle hand shaking Charles' shoulder.

"... Charles. _Charles_. Charles, wake up," Erik says, increasing his volume minutely with each soft word.

"Wha? I mean, I'm—I'm up," Charles says, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. Erik still has one arm locked around his waist and suddenly the whole night comes rushing back to Charles.

"I'm sorry for falling asleep on you, Charles," Erik whispers sheepishly, his breath ghosting over Charles' ear and causing a full-body shiver. "I'm sure you didn't want to sleep with me."

There is a pause as Erik realizes what he has said. Then he back-tracks so fast Charles is impressed he doesn't break something.

"I mean, not like—not like _that_. Not that you don't want to—but not that you _do_ either. But not that I want to sleep with—but not that I, you know, don't want to, either. I mean I would like—I just—forget it." All throughout the bumbling speech, Erik's mind is practically radiating _don't freak him out, don't let him know, of course you want to sleep with him, he's gorgeous, no, stop thinking with your dick, Erik_. And then, immediately after, once Charles posture becomes stiff and rigid as all of Erik's thoughts come rushing in past his spent mental shields—Erik's mind turns into a litany of _shit shit shit fuck he heard fuck_.

"...Erik?" Charles whispers back, uncertain, but hope blooming in his chest.

"Yes?" Erik asks, turning his head just as Charles turns his, so that they end up nose to nose.

The moment hangs heavy and charged with meaning between them, Charles' mind pushing a wordless _?_  into Erik's. The resulting surge of affection is all that it takes for Charles to lean in and kiss Erik full on the mouth.

For some precious moments, nothing else in the world exists. Everything is heat and light from the soft lamp by the couch and warm breathes exhaled through noses. As their lips move together, one thought of _finally_ crystallizes between their two minds.

Then Charles pulls back to breathe, glancing up into Erik's open.

"I don't want to not sleep with you too, Erik," Charles says, smiling up at him. Erik returns the smile.

And then there is an insistent tug on the zipper of Charles' trousers and Charles is turning to straddle Erik's lap as Erik mouths gently at his neck and ear. For a brief moment, Charles thinks of how many "I told you so"s Raven is going to bombard him with once everyone wakes up, but he can't care about that for long when Erik's hands grasp possessively at his hips. Inclining his head for another searing kiss, Charles radiates joy into Erik's mind as hard as he can.


	2. Drunkfic

When Charles is drunk, he gets—to put it lightly—rather handsy. Which wouldn't be a problem (at all) if he weren't handsy with _literally everyone_. Old ladies? He's there, stroking their arms and calling them beautiful. Gruff looking bar tenders that he _probably_ shouldn't be flirting with in the early 60s? Well, guess what, _he is_. And Erik _cannot fucking stand it_.

You see, the problem is that Charles seems to be this way towards everyone _except_ Erik. For some unknown, godforsaken reason, Erik is the only one Charles refuses to touch excessively. He keeps the touches careful and light, almost nonexistent.

It only gets worse after the beach, after Cuba, after everything. When Erik sees Charles again for the first time in years, he not only gets a punch to the jaw but also a good whiff of the alcohol Charles reeks of, even now. Once they have come to an unstable truce and they are playing chess on the plane, Charles is _still_ drinking and doesn't seem intent on stopping any time soon. He's well on his way to a pretty normal level of drunk for Charles, but something is different this time.

This time, he's not touching _anyone_.

*

Erik knows he's doesn't have any right, but he feels the overwhelming need to confront Charles about his apparent alcoholism nonetheless. Later, once Logan has gone to sleep and Charles is pouring himself another drink, Erik speaks up.

"I really think you've had enough, Charles," he says, aiming to gently grasp Charles wrist but holding on more tightly than he had intended.

"What do you know about enough, Erik?" Charles slurs, wrenching his wrist free of Erik's hand and downing another shot of whiskey.

"I know plenty. I know that this isn't you."

"You hardly know me at all now, Erik. Or did you forget that we were apart for 10 years?" Charles says the last part with none of the venom that Erik would have expected. He says it almost softly, sadly, with great regret filling his still-blue eyes. It hurts like the punch 50 or 100 times over, and deeper. He really doesn't know Charles now, does he? He lost the right to knowing him when he left.

But as much as Erik knows this, as much as it hurts to admit it privately to himself, his pride won't allow him to admit it out loud. He resorts to violence and rage instead, falling back into old habits.

"And whose fucking fault was that? At any moment during that trial, you could have stopped them. You could have stopped them from locking me away for 10 years of hell. You could have looked in my head and seen all the proof you needed to know that _I_ was only trying to save the president. You could have, but you _didn't_ ," Erik whispers the last part, barely able to get it past his teeth. He's parroting back something that Charles said to him the night they met, something Charles has surely forgotten by now. But by the look on Charles' face—transforming from shock to sadness to rage in mere moments—it is not lost on Charles. For all that Charles seems to have forgiven him to a certain extent, their new relationship is tenuous at best.

"You told me to stay out of your head! And then you put that _fucking_ helmet on and what was I supposed to think? How was I supposed to know that you suddenly wanted me in your mind? Was it just for your _convenience_?" Charles bites, the sadness and betrayal beneath the words belied by the tears gathering in his eyes. Suddenly, all the rage goes out of Erik like a candle blown out in the wind.

"You are never around only for my convenience, Charles," Erik says softly. Charles wrenches his head to the side, shaking it in an attempt to quell the tears. Leaning forward on the chess board, Charles sobs silently with what seems to be the weight of years of pain. Charles is folded in on himself, shrinking away from the world in ways he never used to, back in the days when he was so free and careless with his touches. Now, Erik can see that Charles is the one who needs that kind of no-holds-barred affection. And if that is all Erik can give him, to sooth the pain, then that is what he will offer, as freely and gently as he can.

So Erik stands up, moves around the table, and leans forward to run his hands through Charles' hair as he embraces him. And the miracle is this:  Charles grips back, runs hands down Erik's arms, crying all the while.

Earning the honor of Charles touch, it seems, was only as hard as Erik learning to reach out first.


	3. Slavefic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik Lehnsherr had always known he was a monster. And a monster should be kept on a leash, shouldn't it?
> 
> Charles proves to him otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow another chapter super late HAHAHA
> 
> This one has some warnings: brief violence, slavery (the serious kind).
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Erik Lehnsherr had always known he was a monster. And a monster should be kept on a leash, shouldn't it?

Erik's mother would no doubt disagree. She had always been supportive of him and his gift, amazed at all the beautiful things he crafted for her from the cheap metal of useless utensils. One that she treasured dearly Erik had given to her for her birthday: a small sparrow, no bigger than her thumbnail, with tiny, gleaming eggs and a woven nest to match. His mother had cried when he had given it to her. Yes, Erik's mother would have disagreed with him—but that was before the men came and took Erik away. That was before she was killed.

And, soon enough, Shaw too shall know the bitter taste of death, raw and smoky like the ashes of Erik’s people. But not today. Today, he may still be a monster, but today is also the day he has met Charles.

Yet when Charles tells him in no uncertain terms that he is slave only in name, that as soon as Charles rules Westchester he will free Erik and all the others that are special like them, that he is not a monster, Erik doesn't believe him. No matter how many soft kisses Charles bestows upon him, no matter how reverently Charles touches him, Erik can't help but feel that he is damaged goods. He could break Charles, and he will. It's inevitable, as sure a thing as sunrise. Everything he touches breaks, sooner or later. It's only a matter of time.

That is not to say that Charles is fragile. He's quite the opposite; sturdily built in body and mind, his presence grounding and calm. Charles is a tree with deep roots, the kind of person that can be shaken but not uprooted, the kind that weathers the storm by bending but not breaking.

And Erik—oh, Erik was made for chaos and pain. He is the fire that will burn Charles over and over. And no matter how many times Charles is able to grow anew, nothing can erase the sight of it: of Charles’ heart, burned and battered, blackened to nearly the center. Erik will not have that.

Charles heart is precious and priceless, like his mother’s love that inspired the crafting of the bird’s nest. When Charles touches him, Erik can almost, _almost_ see his gift as a blessing. As something soft and gentle, _kind_.

But only almost. And it isn’t enough to dissuade him from his course, to stop him from leaving. The sooner he leaves the less broken Charles will be.

So in the dead of night, as the new moon provides Erik with cover and false safety, he slips from Charles’ bed and grabs his satchel of prepared provisions, making his way to the stables after he pushes Charles’ wheelchair far from the bed. It hurts him to betray Charles’ trust like this, to seemingly reject his love, but he has no choice. It’s for Charles’ own good. The peace he speaks of can never be. For Erik, peace has never been and will never be an option.

Just as he slips out the gate, he feels Charles’ gentle voice in his mind, sleepy and confused: _Erik …_

A moment later, Erik can hear Charles dismay as he realizes exactly what Erik is up to. _Erik!_

The dismay turns to panic when Charles reaches for his chair and finds it missing. Erik steels himself against the wave of guilt and pushes through the tall fronds of the garden’s plants, heading away from his heart and his home. Charles won’t stop him from leaving. He could—but he won’t.

Looking back will only break his heart further.

*

_Ten years later_

Erik has forgotten what it means to be free.

He felt it, for a little while, under the sturdy weight of Charles’ body and in the warm halls of his home, among others like himself. But that was only a glimpse, a fleeting taste soon erased by his hunt for Shaw, his quest for revenge and retribution.

And now he is back where he belongs: locked up, like the monster he is, many floors below the surface of the slave prison. He is forced to ingest their sad excuse for food—laden with suppressants—daily, or starve. The feel of metal humming in his senses, the feel of Charles in his mind, the warmth of another pressed close to his side—all are foreign to him, here, surrounded by stone and glass, wasting slowly away.

Sometimes, for one barely-there sliver of a moment, Erik will think he hears Charles, reaching for him and promising him that he is not alone. But then the moment passes and Erik is back to a life of misery and hate.

The man who killed his mother is long dead—killed in cold blood, mangled and screaming until the end, having payed the ultimate price for the life he’d taken. But just as easily as before, exhausted by the effort that Shaw’s murder required, Erik was taken captive, forced to obey, put on a leash again—sold.

Yes, his mother is avenged—but at what cost?

*

Then, all at once, the glass is breaking. A young boy with a shock of silver hair and his mirror image, a girl with frightening red curls, are pulling Erik from his pallet and telling him to _move_. The girl is conjuring some sort of red, sparking energy that breaks Erik’s chains. Then the twins link hands, the boy placing his other palm on Erik’s shoulder, and they are moving faster than Erik knew was possible. They race past guards before they can draw their swords, up flights of stairs, and to the surface.

The sun blinds Erik, new in its forgotten brightness. But as the brilliant flares clear and the guards race out from the entrance, everything seems to freeze at once. And before him, Erik sees a ghost.

My gods, surely Erik has died. There, in his chair, with two fingers pressed to his temple and a blinding smile on his face, is Charles. Beautiful Charles, who is brighter than the sun, far more precious. Erik stumbles forwards, his feet carrying him haltingly to fall upon Charles’ lap and weep.

Charles cradles his cheeks, brushes his hair back from his face. This Charles is aged, hairline receding and riddled with shocks of grey, eyes and forehead creased with new lines. But this is _his_ Charles nonetheless.

Before he knows what he is doing, Erik surges upwards to press his lips over Charles’—finally, finally, after so many years without.

And a voice whispers in his mind, golden-tinged and feeling like home: _Hello, love_.


End file.
